


A Place to Belong

by littlelostsputnik



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Hulkeye - Freeform, M/M, adorableness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostsputnik/pseuds/littlelostsputnik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is that person in everyone’s life who makes you feel at home - a person that stops the endless floating one feels between worlds and identities. Clint expected to gain a lot from his time with the Avengers, what he didn’t expect to find was a middle ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place to Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/gifts), [Star_Madison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Madison/gifts).



The Asgardian was too loud – booming voice known to cause the tiny microprocessors tucked deep within his narrow canal to whistle with feedback. Features would contort in momentary pain, digits reaching into deep pockets to lower the volume on specialized devices while the sharp pitch continued to pound against sensitive eardrums. Muting the hearing aids was his only option and with it, sharp eyes were forced to resort to following the parted flesh of pale lips to guess at the words his teammate curled his tongue around.

 

The Soldier rarely spoke but when he took the time to formulate his thoughts into speech there was always a barrier – one built up by a tilted head, subtly increased volume and a request to repeat the last sentence again and again. Continuing only until both men grew tired, Steve’s voice cracking with overuse while Clint’s neck ached with attempts to overcompensate for his hearing loss.

 

Tony’s speech bordered on breaking the speed of sound, each word flying out of rapidly moving lips while word endings blurred together in a mess of random tones. Please slow down. Tony, quiet. The requests – sharp orders of a man who had grown tired of the droning happening on an invisible spectrum and wanted nothing more than silence from the group financier.

 

With Natasha not a word was spoken. Hands moved through the air to sign the words Coulson and Clint had taught her with their friendship. Memories of greasy fingers, laughter, and a community the archer had lost with the death of their handler. In the presence of the Black Widow, Clint was Deaf – expensive hearing aids turned to silent and tucked within jeans in order to give tender ears a break.

 

His life was that of his condition – as minor and unimportant in his mind as it was. Hard of Hearing. Never to fit into the world as a normal, functioning adult male but always to ride the line between expressive silence and vibrant sound.

 

Until the day the quiet researcher emerged from his lab complaining about a recent project where the science went over the runaway orphan’s level of education but not the explanation. Words soft enough to not trigger the painful shriek while powerful enough to get through residual hearing loss. And while the brunette’s eyes rarely met his own pale gaze, mouth never tucked toward the floor or found itself hidden behind tan hands, unknowingly allowing for an ease of lip reading Clint had never experienced with anyone prior.

 

And then the day when comfort led to carelessness and a silent conversation began between Nat and himself amid the hustle and bustle of the common floor – halting the forward momentum of all the Avengers to focus intense gazes on the two assassins conversing amongst themselves. From the looks of confusion, the stiff bodies that indicated uncertainty rose a steady hand that lifted into the air to offer a wave and ask in the non-verbal language: “You’re Deaf?”

 

Trained gaze snapping to the over-sized sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt that fell past elbows, scanning the quirked brows in a facial expression that screamed question, and the smile that had blossomed across the reserved scientist’s features. “You sign?” Surprise clearly etched among the dirt-streaked angles of the archer’s face. “Of course.” Lips moved in tandem with flowing hands – causing taut lips of the younger man to spread and lift in a rare smile.

 

He had found his middle ground.


End file.
